The Ship that Franky Built
by Wanderingidealism
Summary: a poem I wrote about Franky's Ship, The Thousand Sunny. It was really hard to write, and I worked hard on it, basing it off of the beat in the nursury Rhyme, In the House that Jack Built. I hope y'all love it. it's long, because I included the original poem for comparison


_A poem modeled off the nursery rhyme, In the House that Jack Built. Eiichiro Oda owns one Piece, not I.- first the original rhyme-_

This is the house that Jack built.

This is the malt –

That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the rat,  
That ate the malt -

That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cat,  
That kill'd the rat,  
That ate the malt  
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the dog,  
That worried the cat,  
That kill'd the rat,  
That ate the malt  
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cow with the crumpled horn,  
That toss'd the dog,  
That worried the cat,  
That kill'd the rat,  
That ate the malt  
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the maiden all forlorn,  
That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn,  
That tossed the dog,  
That worried the cat,  
That kill'd the rat,  
That ate the malt  
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the man all tatter'd and torn,  
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,  
That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn,  
That tossed the dog,  
That worried the cat,  
That kill'd the rat,  
That ate the malt  
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the priest all shaven and shorn,  
That married the man all tatter'd and torn,  
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,  
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,  
That tossed the dog,  
That worried the cat,  
That kill'd the rat,  
That ate the malt  
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cock that crow'd in the morn,  
That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,  
That married the man all tatter'd and torn,  
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,  
That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn,  
That tossed the dog,  
That worried the cat,  
That kill'd the rat,  
That ate the malt  
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the farmer sowing his corn,  
That kept the cock that crow'd in the morn,  
That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,  
That married the man all tatter'd and torn,  
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,  
That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn,  
That tossed the dog,  
That worried the cat,  
That killed the rat,  
That ate the malt  
That lay in the house that Jack built.

A pattern of 7, 4, 8, 4, 5, and so on, repeating….. once it gets to the cow, syllables rise to ten

_Now for my poem_

**In the Ship that Franky Built**

This is the Ship that franky built.

This is the lion on the bow,

A might frame with a pointed mane,

That guided the ship Franky Built.

This is the captain,

sitting on the head,

of the lion with the pointed mane,

That guided the ship that Franky built.

This is the Straw hat,

The captain wore,

As he sat on the lion with the pointed mane,

Who guided the ship that Franky Built.

This is the swordsman,

Asleep on the deck

Next to the captain

With the hat on his head,

Who sat on the lion with the pointed mane,

Who guided the ship that Franky built.

This is the navigator,

With a voice like a whip,

Who stands at the wheel,

Sailing the ship,

Across from the deck

Where the swordsman sleeps,

Next to the captain, with the hat on his head,

Who sits on the lion with the pointed mane,

Who guides the ship that Franky Built.

This is the liar,

Spinning his tales,

Next to the wheel,

Where the navigator sails,

Across from the deck,

Where the swordsman sleeps,

Next to the captain with the hat on his head,

Who sits on the lion with a pointed mane,

Who guides the ship that Franky built.

This is the chef, off to the left,

Scolding the liar,

Spinning his tales,

To the left of the wheel where the navigator sails,

Across from the deck,

Where the swordsman sleeps,

Next to the captain with the hat on his head,

Who sits on the lion, with the pointed mane

Who guides the ship that Franky built.

This is the princess,

Far, far away,

Who thinks of the pirates every day,

Who laughed with the chef,

As he scolded the liar,

Who spun his tales,

To the left of the wheel,

Where the navigator sailed,

Across from the deck,

Where the swordsman slept,

Next to the captain,

With the hat on his head,

Who sat on the lion, with the pointed mane

Who guided the ship that Franky built.

This is the doctor, tiny and furry,

With antlers, mixing in quite a hurry,

As the princess far, far away,

Thinks of the pirates, every day,

While the chef scolds the liar,

Spinning his tales,

To the left of the wheel

Where the navigator sails,

Across from the deck where the swordsman sleeps,

Next to the captain with the hat on his head,

Who sits on the lion, with the pointed mane,

Who guides the ship that franky built

This is the Historian, once forlorn,

Who now lives on happily,

No longer alone,

As the princess far, far away,

Thinks of the pirates everyday,

And the chef scolds the liar,

Spinning his tales,

To the left of the wheel where the navigator sails,

Across from the deck where the swordsman sleeps,

Next to the captain,

With the hat on his head,

Who sits on the lion with the pointed mane,

Who guides the ship that Franky built.

This is the Musician, lost for fifty years,

Whose skeletal hands breathe music that brings cheer,

To the historian, once forlorn,

Who happily lives no longer alone,

As the doctor mixes,

In quite a hurry,

As the Princess, far, far away,

Thinks of the pirates every day,

While the chef scolds the liar,

Spinning his tales,

To the left of the wheel where the navigator sails,

Across from the deck where the swordsman sleeps,

Next to the captain with the hat on his head,

Who sits on the lion with the pointed mane,

Who guides the ship that Franky Built.

This is the sea, lapping the sides,

Bearing the ship along its tides,

As the Musician plays songs,

Lovely and gay,

And the Historian hums along,

Seeing another day,

As the Princess, far, far away,

Thinks of the pirates, every day,

And the Doctor mixes something in quite a hurry,

While the chef scold the liar,

Spinning his tales,

To the left of the wheel,

Where the navigator sails,

Across from the deck where the swordsman sleeps,

Next to the captain, with the hat on his head,

Who sits on the lion with the pointed mane,

Who guides the ship that Franky built.

This is the man, with the hammer in hand,

Surveying his work, his hard-built plans,

Standing proudly on the ship,

Which the sea bears on her tides,

While the musician with the skeletal limbs,

Plays music that is never grim,

And the historian sometimes will sing along with a grin,

While the doctor lessens his mixing paste,

And continues his work with considerably less haste,

While a princess, far, far away,

Thinks of her Nakama,

with each passing day,

while the chef half-heartedly scolds the liar,

spinning his tales,

to the left of the wheel where the navigator sails,

across from the deck where the swordsman sleeps,

next to the captain, with the hat on his head,

and adventure in his eyes,

who sits on the lion with the pointed mane,

who guides the ship,

that was made in the wake of pain,

of the loss of another, a merry goat-ship,

remembered forever by those who now sail,

on the ship that Franky built.


End file.
